


stand up, look alive

by starsshinedarkly77



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Driving, Fate & Destiny, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Indrid's Winnebago, Introspection, The Apocalypse, Visions, but no actual character death, like actually, post episode 26
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 15:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18552481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsshinedarkly77/pseuds/starsshinedarkly77
Summary: Slightly before "Ned's" announcement, Indrid Cold sees the events of the night to come unfold, and decides that now, more than ever, is the time to try and defy fate.





	stand up, look alive

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of feelings about episode 26, including the paralyzing terror that Indrid might end up being the big bad, so I slapped together what I WANT to happen instead. Griffin McElroy hear my prayer. 
> 
> This also takes place in the same canon as the seer, unbound, but you don't have to read that first if you don't want to!
> 
> Enjoy!

He’s driving down a (blessedly, miraculously) deserted stretch of highway somewhere in the Midwest when it happens.

The visions strike Indrid over the head like a bludgeon, and he jerks the wheel too hard, too fast, careening off the side of the road. He pulls back the other way, overcorrecting, slamming on the brakes, just narrowly avoiding the future in which he flips the Winnebago completely over and smashes himself into a million bloody pieces on the side of the road. He somehow manages to come to rest on the shoulder and yanks the vehicle into park before he shoves his glasses to his forehead and presses his shaking hands against his eye sockets in a futile attempt to stave off the excruciating pain radiating through his temples.

With the pain, the visions: Ned is there, a prominent feature, somehow in two places at once, and doing the absolute wrong thing in one of them. That’s a sure thing, so set in stone it may as well have already happened. Then, others, the faces of strangers: humans, armed with bats and torches and guns, descending on the gate in Kepler. The terrified faces of Sylphs in Amnesty Lodge; Madeline Cobb looking on in horror as the burning roof of the Lodge collapses. Then, Sylvain, blood spilled across her, the chaotic sights and sounds and smells of war, as humans and Sylphs collide in frenzied battle.

All of it is familiar to him, seen in distant possibilities over the course of the last ten decades, but none so familiar as this: the Heart of Sylvain extinguishing, collapsing under its own weight as it shatters and falls to the Earth, just the way that he saw it over one hundred years ago.

He pries himself out of the onslaught of images, of futures that have just been set in motion, and tries to think, tries to _breathe_ in something other than harsh, unsteady pants. His hands slip off his eyes and into his lap, still shaking, and he stares out of the front window at the bare stretch of highway before him.

He always wondered _when,_ exactly, the world was going to end.

In a way, it’s a relief to finally know for sure.

Because, of course, that’s what he’s just seen. The trajectory from this moment is clear and unwavering. Whether it's Sylvain that falls tonight, or Earth, or both, everything building up on and between the planets is finally coming to a head.

This is the end.

He’d never wanted to be there, for the end. It was why he’d left Sylvain in the first place; not out of any unselfish desire to aid humanity, but out of pure fear, out of cowardice, because he knew, he knew, he _knew_ how Sylvain would die, and he couldn’t bear to stay there and watch it happen.

He doesn’t have to see it. He’s gotten what he wanted. He’s far, far away from his homeland, far away from Kepler. He’s not a part of this, doesn’t have to be there when everything comes crashing down. Only has to watch from a distance and see what’s left when the smoke clears.

He’s safe. It’s not his battle to fight.

It’s Aubrey’s. And Duck’s. And Ned’s, somehow, though he can’t quite work out how, just yet, when every indication is that Ned is about to _cause_ the apocalypse. Those three, and the Sylphs at Amnesty Lodge, and the people of the town of Kepler; it’s all up to them now.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight as another wave of visions comes; Aubrey screaming and crying, lit up like a bonfire as she falls to her knees in front of the body of a blonde woman he doesn’t recognize; Duck being struck down by the citizens of his own town, the town he’s worked so hard to protect, as he stands between them and the gate into Sylvain; Ned, wild-eyed and terrified, running, running, running, not away from the danger but towards the epicenter of it.

It’s up to them.

It’s extremely likely that they’ll fail. Probable futures. Not quite certain, but pretty damn close.

Indrid’s tried to beat the odds before, many times over. For the most part, he’s been unsuccessful, always failing when it matters most, misinterpreting visions when it’s crucial that he gets it _right._ He chose not to stay in Kepler for a reason, even knowing that he _could_ have helped, could have _tried,_ because there was too big of a risk that all he would have done is muddy the waters, tried to avoid a bad future and ended up leading them into a worse one. It was the right choice. It had to be.

He never wanted to be there to see the end.

He considers, for a moment. Tries to see the outcomes. Sees himself shot out of the sky and plummeting towards the earth like a comet. Sees his wings catch fire as he shrieks and writhes. Sees a dozen or more ways that he could die, that he likely _will_ die, if he goes back.

He sees something else, too, then.

He sees morning breaking in Kepler, West Virginia. He sees the sun come up over the trees and bathe the world in light. Sees Amnesty Lodge standing proud and tall, and a battle hard fought but won; not just won but _settled,_ and a peace that’s still possible, even in this darkest hour, to achieve.

It’s not likely. But it’s _possible._

He’s tried to beat the odds before.

Maybe now, when it matters most, it’s time for him to try again.

Indrid Cold pushes his glasses back down onto his nose, puts the Winnebago in drive, and turns around.

Back towards Kepler.

Back towards the end of the world.

After all, it’d be a shame to miss the end, wouldn’t it?


End file.
